Owen's Own
by StarWarrior72
Summary: I personally think Luke would be broken hearted if he saw the way so many people portray his uncle. I just wanted to give Owen a shot at being the protagonist. I don't think she MEANT it as a challenge, though...


Owen Lars was searching for his nephew. Again. If only the boy could choose _one_ place to hide from his chores, like most children. But no, Luke had to have a certain knack for finding himself new hiding places. And of _course_ the only time the boy wasn't restless was when he was hidden.

"Luke!" He called half-heartedly.

Much to his surprise, Luke's muffled voice came back to him. "I'll be right there!"

"Where are you?"

"In the courtyard!"

Owen rounded the corner into the courtyard. He rolled his eyes as he saw the boy's legs sticking out from under his T-16 skyhopper. There was a loud banging as he worked with the underside of his ship. Owen decided that he didn't want to know what he was doing.

"Luke, get out from under there. You have chores you have to do before breakfast."

The clanking of tools calmed for a moment, "I thought one of those chores was _making_ breakfast, what with Aunt Beru being away and all."

"It is." Owen replied, nonplussed.

"Then breakfast is whenever I'm done making it, right?"

"Wrong. I want you to have it ready by around the same time your aunt does."

Luke rolled over, crawling out backwards. "I was afraid of that." He sat up and wiped grime and sweat across his face. "All right, then. I'm going. I guess I thought… you know, since it's my birthday…"

Owen sighed. "Do your chores, Luke."

Luke stood up, traipsing off towards the kitchen.

"And clean yourself up before you even think about touching food!" Owen called after him.

"Yes, Uncle Owen!" Echoed from the kitchen.

Owen continued on his way out to a vaporator. He knew his nephew would take it as an opportunity to procrastinate further, but if the boy would avoid his chores he, at least, would do his in a timely fashion.

"Uncle Owen!" Luke's voice echoed, sounding quite alarmed.

Knowing his nephew's habit of letting things get rather too far before calling for help, Owen raced back towards the house.

"What's happened?" He called as he raced into the kitchen. Luke was sitting on the counter looking rather grumpily into a pot, from which large amounts of inky black smoke issued.

"I have no idea." Luke answered.

Owen quickly pulled it off the heat. "What's in here?" he asked, pushing the smoke aside and trying to see the contents.

"Water," said Luke.

"Water shouldn't smoke, Luke." Owen intoned.

"I know that! That's why I called you. What should I do about it?" Luke asked desperately.

Owen carried it the pot out into the courtyard. He dumped it on the ground. Absolutely nothing came out.

Luke stared at the still-dry ground. "What the…?"

"You boiled it dry." Owen replied.

Luke slumped. "That's not good, is it?"

"You know how important it is not to waste water."

"I know." Luke slumped even further, clearly readying himself for a lecture.

It being his birthday, Owen decided to skip the lecture. "In future, put the water in _before_ turning on the heat."

"Yes, Uncle Owen."

"Find whatever leftovers are still in the fridge and I'll cook dinner."

"Yes, Uncle Owen." Luke repeated. Then he opened the refrigeration unit and dragged out a few sealed containers.

Owen took them from the boy's hand and filled a bowl with food. Luke took it and dropped into a chair at the table. He started eating slowly, taking out his frustration on the chopped vegetables in the stew. Before long, they had been reduced to a rather brownish pudding. Clearly, his birthday was not going as he'd hoped.

Sitting down with his own bowl of a different variety of leftovers, Owen watched his nephew's expression gently. He wished his wife was home, she was the one who knew how to cope with the boy. Luke finished his meal and carried the bowl to the sink, dumping it with a loud crash. Then he traipsed out towards the vaporators.

"Luke!" Owen called after him.

Luke stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Sit back down." He commanded.

Luke sat back down and crossed his arms, resting his head on them. He didn't move. Owen sighed softly.

"As you said, it's your birthday. You're excused from your chores for the day."

Luke sat up, looking hopefully at his uncle. "Really?"

"I have something for you too."

Luke's expression darkened slightly, "Okay, now you're just teasing me."

"No, I'm not." Owen answered. He stood up, and Luke followed him curiously.

"Where are we going?"

"The garage," Owen announced sharply. He was getting rather frustrated with how many questions his nephew was finding.

Luke opened his mouth to ask another question, but was silenced by his uncle's glare. Instead, he turned and raced off towards the garage more quickly. When Owen caught up with the boy, he was staring in amazement at the speeder Owen had purchased.

Owen himself didn't think it was that impressive a speeder. Although it was quite new, it was messily painted with extremely vulgar slogans. Luke seemed not to have noticed.

Owen watched silently as Luke stared happily at the speeder.

"Seriously? This is for me?"

"Yes."

"Wow!" Luke clambered into it, looking at the various controls.

"Don't even think about flying it until you've fixed it up." Owen commanded, grabbing some paint off a shelf and holding it up to a boy.

Luke clambered back out and took the paint.

"I want all those slogans off before you take it out of the garage."

"How did it get those slogans anyway?" Luke asked curiously.

"It belonged to a rental agency. Some idiot rented it and painted all over it. They sold it cheap instead of fixing it. You'll want this too." He held up some paint remover.

"Yeah, sure." Luke put down the paint, and took the paint remover and a rag, scrambling onto the hood of the speeder.

Owen stood and watched the boy start to scrub enthusiastically at the paint. Then he turned and moved to continue his chores. He would have to work much more quickly to get all his chores, his wife's chores, _and_ his nephew's chores done.

Mid-afternoon, Luke came out of the garage.

"Have you finished, Luke?" Owen called loudly across the sand.

"The paint's gone, but I still have to paint it! I'm just letting it dry off a bit before I start on that. Want a hand?" he called, running towards his uncle.

"Get your tools and get to work on the South Ridge."

"Yes, Sir!" Luke raced off again, wholly energised by his uncle's gift.

Owen smiled in spite of himself.

Soon, Luke had exited the house again, racing off towards the South Ridge. Before long, Owen found himself on the ridge as well. Luke waved at him eagerly before taking one last look at the vaporator he had been working on and hopping down, falling almost nine feet before landing in a crouch. Owen was expecting a cry of pain, but instead the boy hopped back up and raced back towards the house.

Thinking about how much he wished the boy could be as enthusiastic with his chores all the time, Owen clambered onto an untended vaporator to continue working.

Hours later again, Owen was finished with the vaporators and heading back to the house. He was surprised to see the speeder coming across the sand. It stopped next to him.

"Hi, Uncle Owen. I got it cleaned up, can I test it out now?"

Owen mentally rolled his eyes at the boy's habit of asking for permission after he had already taken action on being allowed.

"Yes, Luke." Owen expected the boy to race off, but instead the speeder continued to hover, and Luke was fidgeting slightly.

"Uh… Uncle Owen?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to come with me?"

Owen blinked a couple of times before walking around the speeder and climbing into the passenger seat.

Luke grinned widely. As soon as his uncle was safely in, the speeder kicked up sand and raced off into the desert. Owen glared at his nephew, whose smile became slightly sheepish. However, the speeder didn't slow down at all. In fact, the boy took it racing towards the canyons.

Owen sighed. Luke was so like Anakin. The boy would only get himself hurt.

"Slow down!"

Luke frowned and slowed down a couple of kilometers per hour. Owen sighed, but there was no way Luke would hear it. Turning away, Owen watched the scenery racing by at several hundred kilometers an hour.

He had just decided that this was actually entirely survivable when Luke reached the canyons and started making the sharpest turns he possibly could. Owen grasped the seat without even thinking about it. He began trying to imagine that he was elsewhere.

"Uncle Owen? Are you all right?" Luke yelled.

Owen opened his eyes again, refusing to let his nephew know how skittish he was feeling. "We'd best be getting back! It's getting dark!" He warned. Luke sighed, but turned and started back towards the farm.

By the time Luke had pulled into the garage, it was getting quite dark out. Luke clambered out of the speeder, still grinning. Owen followed him.

Taking in his nephew's paint covered clothing and face, Owen commanded, "Clean yourself up while I make dinner."

Luke glanced down at himself, as if noticing the mess for the first time. "Yes, Sir."

Owen watched the boy walking off towards his own room. Then he hurried off to make dinner.

By the time Luke joined his uncle, Owen had started baking Luke's favourite frozen meal. Luke sat down at the table, sighing contentedly. Like earlier in the day, Luke crossed his arms and rested his head on them, but this time his eyes were open, and he gazed at his uncle silently and the effect was one of exhaustion, not anger.

As soon as the food was ready, Owen carried the food to the table, resting a plate in front of him. Luke sat up, rubbing at his eyes. A moment later, he was far more alert. He started eating quickly.

Owen gave a small, private smile and started his own meal. Luke continued to eat as if he hadn't been fed in months. Soon, Luke was finished. He pushed his dish away and rested his head on his arms again.

"Your aunt left you a gift as well."

Luke stared at him, googly eyed.

Owen couldn't help showing his smile. He stood up and fetched the small cake his wife had left for their nephew's birthday. Luke smiled widely.

They ate together. Luke yawned widely after he finished eating his dessert, but didn't ask to leave the table. Instead, he stayed, expecting his uncle to speak.

Owen smiled at his nephew, finally. "Go to bed, Luke."

"Yes Sir." He mumbled, dragging himself to his feet. Owen watched the boy walk off to his room. He heard some soft ruffling as the boy changed and tucked himself into bed.

Owen gathered the dishes off the table and began cleaning them. He was just placing the last of the cutlery back in the drawer when he heard his nephew scream. Immediately, he put down the utensils he was holding and focussed hard. The boy screamed again.

"Uncle Owen! Uncle Owen! Un-," the child was cut off in mid-scream.

Owen grabbed his rifle and raced up to his nephew's room. He just saw the corner of a dark cape disappear around the bend. He raced after it, holding the rifle ready.

As he rounded the corner after the shadow, he saw his nephew, struggling in the arms of none other than Darth Vader. Luke appeared to have been struck dumb by something, but he was making every effort to scream. The boy flailed helplessly, sobbing noiselessly and punching at Vader's armour.

How had Vader found out Luke was here? Had Obi-Wan told him? But, no, Obi-Wan was here to protect the boy from the Empire.

Luke gave a particularly hard twist, and his shirt ripped. Vader held him more tightly and Owen saw the horror in the boy's eyes.

His mouth had gone very dry, but he managed to croak at Vader, "Put him down."

Vader turned slowly. "Stand down, Owen."

Owen shivered at the thought that Vader knew his name, but continued, "Put my nephew down."

Very slowly, Vader lowered the child to the ground. Still apparently speechless, Luke fought to run to his uncle, but Vader held him back effortlessly. The boy continued to reach for Owen, and he began to walk slowly forward towards the two figures.

Vader held up his free hand and Owen was thrown back.

"Stay away from him." Vader intoned.

Owen watched the boy mouthing helplessly, trying to express himself.

Owen swallowed what felt like his own tongue, but was really just a gasp of air.

"Let him speak." He leveled the rifle at Vader's head.

Vader was quite unfazed, but he released his hold on the boy's voice.

"Uncle Owen!" the boy sobbed desperately, "Don't try to challenge him! Just go back to the farm! You never asked to raise me anyway! You can adopt some other kid, maybe someone who won't walk around with their head in the clouds as much. It's for the best, really! Tell Aunt Beru…" His breath caught, and Owen assumed Vader had cut it off again, "Tell her… Promise you'll let her know I love her." Luke slumped, defeated. His knees hit the sand, but moments later, Vader had dragged the child back to his feet and was marching the boy away again.

"Leave him be." Owen commanded, trailing them rather pathetically.

Vader let out an unhealthy choking sound Owen realized was his best imitation of laughter. "I'll do what I want with him. He's not your son. You don't have any authority over his welfare. You've sheltered a street boy, not adopted a child. You've simply given him a home. But adoptions were abolished years ago. You have no legal power."

Owen was surprised to find the strength to snarl, "He's my son in every way that counts! What do you want with him anyway?"

For a moment, Luke's eyes were wide, then tears began to trickle down his cheeks, evaporating almost as quickly as they were produced. Owen didn't have to be Force sensitive to feel his nephew's gratitude.

"Because he is my son in more ways than he could ever be yours."

Luke gaped at Vader, and Owen was in a no more coherent state of mind. Luke recovered first. He began miming desperately, begging his father to let him speak.

Vader released his hold on Luke's voice again, but kept a firm grip on the boy's corporeal form. Luke gasped for a moment before turning to stare at Vader.

In a small, frightened, but rather awed voice, he asked, "Really?"

Vader stood, frozen for a moment. Doubtless he had been expecting more pleas for freedom, or screaming. The hope in his child's eyes seemed to have stunned him. Slowly, he nodded.

Luke turned to his uncle, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Owen gazed at his nephew. The boy's form seemed so familiar now. He couldn't imagine what it would be like around the farm without the child. "I had no idea. I thought you were here to stay."

Luke turned back to his father, "May I go to him, please?" he asked timidly.

Slowly, unsurely, Vader released his son.

Luke began walking ever so slowly towards his uncle. Owen lowered his blaster, and the boy raced back into his arms.

Owen couldn't remember the last time he'd held his nephew. It probably hadn't been since the boy was very small. But now, scared beyond words, the boy remembered those times, and ran to his uncle for comfort.

Cautiously, remembering far less of those previous occasions, Owen rubbed the child's back slowly. Luke was crying desperately, and Owen wanted nothing more than to let those tears end.

"When did you plan to tell him?"

Vader didn't answer. He was watching the encounter with what Owen could only assume was jealousy. To see his son struggle against him, but run into the arms of the man he'd met only once, and never agreed with.

Under his hand, Owen felt the cloth of his nephew's shirt suddenly bunch up, and the boy was slowly, carefully dragged away from him.

Vader walked away, taking the child with him.

Luke turned back over his shoulder and called back to his uncle one last time. "Tell Aunt Beru I love her!" he turned to continue walking, then twisted suddenly and tore himself from even his father's strong Force-grip. He ran back to his uncle. "I love you, Uncle Owen! I'm so sorry I wasn't more helpful."

Owen held the boy for another moment. Again, the child's shirt bunched and he was dragged away.

"You did a fine job, Luke. I couldn't have asked for a better child."

Tears ran freely down Luke's cheeks. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Luke met his uncle's eyes one last time before turning, and running after his father.

Through his tears, Owen didn't see Luke get his father's attention, nor did he see Vader bend over to listen. He never considered that the sudden success of the moisture farm might have had to do with that meeting. And he was never able to forgive himself for letting the boy he had loved as a son go without a fight.


End file.
